Shocked at such defiance of heaven the Chorus invoke Sanctity, crowned
as goddess in the nether world, to hear the awful words of Pentheus,
uttered against the immortal son of Semele, first and best of gods,
ruler of the flower-crowned feast, and the dance's jocund strife, and
the laughter, and the sparkling wine-cup, and the sweet sleep that
follows the festival. Sorrow closes the lot of such aweless, unbridled
madness: stability is for the calmly reverent life, knitting whole
houses in sweet domestic harmony. Clasp the present of brief life: no
grasping after a bright future with far-fetched wisdom. Oh, for the
lands where the graces and sweet desire have their haunts, and young
loves soothe the heart with tender guile: fit regions for the
Bacchanals, whose joy is Peace--wealth-giver to rich and poor. Away
with stern austerity: hail the homely wisdom of the multitude. {439}